


Of candies, road trips, and glow in the dark T-shirts

by OTyPical (Littlenerdyotaku)



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: (fun!), Anxiety Attacks, Camping, Case Fic, Dirk's bad understanding of slang, Fluff, M/M, POV Alternating, POV Third Person, Team Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 23:08:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18860836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Littlenerdyotaku/pseuds/OTyPical
Summary: 13 kids go missing in the middle of the night, a fake forest ranger appears, and what does it all have to do with a Scientologist-owned candy company?a lot, as it turns out."So far, they had scoured every centimeter of the room, with no evil plans in sight. Even boring ones, like getting a coffee with Kim Jong Un on Tuesday or setting fire to an orphanage on Friday."…were you actually expecting to find any, though?" asks Todd, and Dirk realizes he's been speaking out loud."Well, proper villains always have them stashed somewhere," says Dirk, motioning vaguely to the drawer he'd made a mess of moments earlier."And since when is anything involving you proper?" remarks Todd."That's – fair." Admits Dirk."





	Of candies, road trips, and glow in the dark T-shirts

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency, the characters nor the settings belong to me, but to Netflix.  
> My first time writing a dirk gently fic!  
> TW: mentions of pedophilia (just people talking about pedophilia as a thing, not the act itself or anything graphic)

Dirk Gently was NOT a babysitter, thank you very much. Gone were the days when he had to walk dogs – and cats, and on one occasion, a very feisty ferret – for a living. He had a real job now, even if self-proclaimed, and made real money, even if he threw most of it on jackets, and he even solved two cases – though he only got paid for one.

He liked to count the second as a favour to the universe.

Dirk Gently was a holistic detective. And he did not go on school trips.

"How do they even carry a school around?" he asked Todd, before realizing that, perhaps, was not the meaning of the phrase. After a thorough explanation of the subject, Dirk felt even more disqualified for the position. "But I don't even HAVE kids!" he exclaimed. "And they'll probably have to babysit you, anyway," muttered Farah.

The discussion had begun three hours prior, when an old woman with hair that was three shades too yellow to be considered natural and glasses so square they could probably cut, burst into the agency. She was sweating, clearly not one to exercise regularly.

Dirk stood and stared, not quite used to having clients, while Farah offered her a seat on one of the boxes that contained the chairs, and coaxed Dirk into sitting behind the box that contained his desk.

"You're Dirk Gently, right?" she asked, referring to Todd. Something about him usually made people assume he was the boss, for some reason. Maybe it was because he wasn't wearing a tie that had flying rainbow bagels all over it. Which was such a shame, Dirk supposes. The world would be a much better place if everyone's bosses wore rainbow bagel ties on a daily basis.

"That's me, actually." Dirk gave a little wave, and could immediately feel the woman sizing him up. By her significantly sourer expression, she deemed her discovery unimpressive.

"what brings you here?" Dirk asked, trying to act as polite as he could, even though he didn't feel overly compelled to be polite to the woman.

The blond straightened in her seat, wiping her brow with the sleeve of her jacket, which was probably a heavy contributor as to why she even was sweaty in the first place. Dirk didn't say that out loud either.

"I'm Lena – I teach in the elementary school a few blocks over.

Every year, we take the fifth graders camping – teach them about nature, let them throw rocks at a river instead of each other, that sort of thing, " Dirk nodded wisely, trying to pretend he knew all about the art of throwing rocks as a kid.

"Everything went well during the day, but at night, when we went to do the routine check on the kids, we found thirteen of them were missing.

Now, I know this sounds awfully irresponsible of us – but our tents were just across theirs, and they're little kids – no group this big, even the most behaved of ones – which they weren't – could construct a plan this good, much less execute it without getting caught.

We searched until the small hours of the morning, but they were nowhere to be found. When we returned, we found them all sleeping in their tents, looking exactly as they were when we put them to sleep.

We would've thought it was a dream, if not for a dirty scratch on one boy's elbow, which wasn't there before the... Disappearance."

She – Lena – finished, and Todd offered her some water.

"And you want us to find the person behind this?" He asked. "Not to sound like I'm not taking this seriously," Todd said, sounding exactly like he was not taking it seriously - "or anything, but it happened more than a week ago. The culprit must have left by now." If there even was a culprit, he finished silently.

Todd had done his own fair share of mischief as a kid. A well-organized group of kids was perfectly capable of sneaking behind a teacher's back.

“The second classes trip is in three days. We couldn't cancel the reservation without having to explain why, and it would paint use in a terrible light if we did - what, with all the registration to the new semester, we just couldn't afford it." And taking them to a place where they could possibly be kidnapped would paint you perfectly fine, Dirk wanted to add, but bit his tongue.

"Still, I felt it would have been very irresponsible of us not to do anything about what happened.

Strange happenings are your specialty, right? Just chaperone the kids, see if you can find anything suspicious - "

"I must inform you, our rates are very high," interrupted Dirk, who didn't even have a usual rate up until this very second.

"How much?" she asked, though he could see the doubt in her eyes.

"Uh… three, point eighty-seven." Said Dirk, naming the first number that came to his head.

"three point eighty-seven what?"

"Thousand. dollars."

"He's kidding, of course." Said Todd and shot him something that Dirk wisely interpreted as his "you're my best friends but shut the fuck up and let me handle this." Look.

"It's eight hundred for every 24 hours."

The woman gave Todd a look that Dirk interpreted as "Why couldn't you be Dirk Gently?"

The real Dirk Gently didn't know if he liked being able to interpret looks anymore.

"Here's my number," he handed her a card, hoping she would get the hint. She did.

"I'll call you once I make my decision."

"What's a chaperon?" he asked Todd, as soon as the door closed behind her.

…

And so, Todd found himself squeezed in the back seat of a bus between Farah and Dirk, who seemed fascinated by a window that at first seemed like an exciting idea, but now more like a loop of the same three buildings and four horses. That doesn't stop him from exclaiming "Horses!" every three seconds like a ten-year-old. Even the actual ten-year olds that fill the bus no longer pointed at every passing horse. In fact, most of them seem to be deep in their smartphones, ignoring the teacher's feeble attempts at starting a game of "I spy with my little eye".

"Todd, look, a cow!" Dirk's smile seems to light his whole face up. It was adorable, in the "three-year-old trying to pronounce a difficult word" sense of the word.

"And another one! Look, there's a whole group of them."

"Herd." Farah mumbles. "A group of cows is called a herd."

Busses made her motion-sick, apparently. Currently she was covering her head with both hands and trying to resemble a dead raccoon as much as possible.

Dirk, seemingly oblivious to Farah's condition, snapped picture after picture of the cows, the sky, Farah and Todd and the unfortunate kid sitting at the far edge of the row, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else, including the middle of the road.

Dirk shows Todd the pictures. Most were blurry, and he can barely tell the cows and the clouds apart in some, but in others he can easily make out the two. They were far from being professional, but Dirk's enthusiasm while taking them seemed to jump out of the photos.

"Oops, sorry." He giggles, bumping his shoulder against Todd during a particularly sharp turn.

"It's okay. They're – lovely."

Dirk positively beams at him, adorable in the "I'm falling for my best friend" way.

…

When they take their things out of the bus, Farah's is suspiciously heavy, even though Todd and Dirk made her leave her gun at home. Dirk's bag looks three times smaller than when he first packed it, and he wonders why it is always the least comfortable moment for him to realize he forgot his toothbrush and a spare change of trousers.

Todd's is buried beneath a pile of backpacks, junk and papers. It seems the teacher had planned to take the children treasure hunting, to which Dirk mentally crosses his fingers in hopes for it to turn out better than her frankly, pitiful attempt at "I spy" had.

They spend another ten minutes digging everyone's belongings out of the pile – it turned out that Dirk had, in fact, brought along trousers, though now they were covered in a blue substance that Dirk was fairly certain was slime, deeming them unwearable.

He did forget his toothbrush, though.

Once the last shirt is collected, Farah sits them down for mission briefing – she insists it was completely necessary, but Dirk knows she's just exploiting her new rights as a cop. He lets her roll with it, though, because a happy Farah is a Farah that is less likely to yell at him for forgetting to water the plants before leaving.

Two hours later, however, her good mood has been all but evaporated, as they have been going in circles all around the camping site, no closer to solving the case than when they had first stepped off the bus.

They searched every corner: the sleeping grounds, the trees, even the toilets. All they found were a blue, broken toothbrush, three candy wrappers sharing the same expiration date,  and a single sock that could have been said to have seen better days years ago.

"Maybe they dug a tunnel - with the toothbrush!" says Dirk, feeling rather proud of himself for proposing such a sound theory. His guts, though, tell him immediately that he is a blubbering idiot, which the universe chooses to convey with a very sharp tinge in his stomach.

That's a no, then.

"No one can dig a tunnel with only a toothbrush," says Todd, raising his eyebrows – not as good as Zimmerfield might have done it, of course, but as close as he could - and Farah nods in agreement. Buzz killers.

She hands Dirk the sock, looking immensely relieved the moment it leaves her hand.

Based on his previous experiences, he – conveying the universe's will, of course - should have been able to tell which pieces of evidence were important to the case, and which were just regular junk.

Dirk tried to argue that his connection with the universe didn't work that way, and the whole thing was starting to sound completely psychic and not at all something he was comfortable with - but he had to admit that when he held the dirty, white-turned-brown sock, something inside him practically screamed that it was useless garbage.

That might have just been the logical part of his brain, though.

"Ew, absolutely not." He says, throwing it away. Farah glares at him while Todd tries his very hardest not to snicker.

The candy wrappers, however, are a match. He feels it in his stomach, like the little twist at the very start of the biggest fall in a roller coaster.

"The wrappers!" Dirk exclaims excitedly. Or, well, as excited as one could get about three torn, week old pieces of paper.

"Maybe the kidnappers tried to lure them in with candy?" Todd suggests.

"They're fifth graders," Farah counters, "They must've learned about stranger danger in school."

Dirk wants to ask what 'stranger danger' is, but feels like an idiot for not knowing such an important part of what seems to be universal knowledge.

"It could have been someone they knew, like… a parent, or a teacher."

"But why would they need to lure them? They're teachers," says Dirk. "Couldn't they just tell them they would fail them in the next test if they don't cooperate?"

"That's illegal, Dirk."

"So is kidnapping, but apparently they had no trouble doing that."

"None of this makes sense," says Farah, examining the wrappers while subconsciously tapping her trousers for her gun. Her movements are fidgety, and dirk can tell she doesn't like being there. Having to leave her gun behind for the sake of blending in clearly makes her feel vulnerable, though Dirk knew she could most likely kill whoever it was bare-handedly.

"Why take and return them without asking for ransom? And if you plan to, I don't know," she inhaled deeply, her nostrils flaring slightly –"do stuff, why not at school? Why now, when there are all these people around who might walk in on you?"

Dirk wants to ask what she means by stuff, when he notices the way Todd and Farah look at him, almost pityingly – no, scratch that, certainly pityingly, and the realization dawns upon him. He opens his mouth in a silent O, and Todd shoots him another worried glance.

"That's awful!" He squeaks. "we should be doing something to stop them!"

"I said if," Farah clarifies. "And we're already doing the best we can," adds Todd, though they both look slightly more worried than before.

…

Dirk wants to question the teachers immediately, and Todd and Farah just barely manage to talk him off the plan. They remind him they will need to have proof before accusing someone of something this heavy. Otherwise, it would look incredibly suspicious for three complete strangers to be so on board with the strange happenings which they were not present during, nor should have heard about.

It was of little help, though, as he has now taken to stomping glumly around the lake and looking at the children with such a morbid expression, he looked like the creep.

"Hey, are you okay?" Todd asks, clamping a hand on his shoulder. Dirk flinches, trying to conceal the move with a cough. Todd notices.

"Sorry, dumb question. Of course you're not."

"They're kids, Todd. Who would want to hurt a kid?" Dirk turns to him, but doesn't push his hand away.

His voice wavers; he was never good at keeping his emotions at bay. It's a good thing he chose to be a detective, Todd thinks; he would have made a terrible poker player.

"We don't know that yet," says Todd. "The universe picked you for this case, so it must be some - some weird sci-fi shit, nothing as boring as pedophilia."

He meant that in the positive, one-less-thing-we'll-have-to-worry-about way, but, like always, he picked the wrong thing to say and he sees it in the way Dirk's shoulders tighten.

"pedophilia isn't boring." He mumbles. "It's - it's disgusting and awful, and common, terribly so, but not boring."

Dirk doesn't talk about his past, but from the bits and pieces Todd had gathered, physical abuse was only part of the many horrors Dirk faced as a child. He doesn't know, doesn't dare to ask, if Dirk was a victim of pedophilia too.

"Not me," Dirk says, answering the question hanging heavy in the air, as present as if he'd said it. "But the walls were surprisingly thin for an army issued facility."

Todd wraps his arms around him awkwardly, and Dirk buries his face in his shirt and sniffs.

...

"You know," Dirk says thoughtfully as they separate; Dirk awkwardly tries to wipe the wet mess he made of Todd's shirt in the process, and Todd pretends he doesn't notice.

"... I never learned to skip rocks. I suppose it's not a very useful skill," bits of cheer and laughter reach their ears as a chubby, red headed kid makes his pebble bounce four times before it lands, "so no one ever bothered to teach me, but it looks mighty fun."

Todd raises his brows, looking confused. Perhaps Dirk was, for what is undoubtedly a first, too subtle for his understanding.

"Can you?" Dirk asks, picking a small, yellow stone and throwing it half-heartedly. "Skip rocks, I mean.” The pebble flails miserably in the air and falls, not even three meters away from them.

Todd poorly conceals his laughter at the sorry attempt, and Dirk straightens, pretending to be offended, glad for the change of mood.

"Like you could do better," he says sourly.

"Like I could - Dirk, you just threw it five feet away. Doing it worse would be a challenge."

"Oh, yeah? Prove it."

The corners of Todd's eye crinkle as he grins, picking up a flat pebble that bears an uncanny resemblance to a pancake, both in shape and color.

Dirk's stomach flutters, and he's not sure if it's because of the way Todd smiles at him or just his hunger.

The rock bounces once, twice, flopping on the sixth jump.

Todd smirks at him, victorious.

"You lost," Dirk says, matter-of-factly, though he feels like any reaction other than jumping up and down while clapping his hands like a toddler would fall short.

"Lost? It bounced SIX times. Yours bounced zero."

"But the challenge was 'doing it worse', wasn't it, Todd?"

"Oh, fuck off." Todd retorts, but Dirk can hear his smile.

...

Farah could do many things.

She could tell you seven different ways to immobilize a person with a carefully situated blow; she could quote any police protocol just by its number; she could even pick a lock with nothing but a bra if you asked her to nicely.

She could not, however, make spaghetti without a stove.

Dirk Gently and Todd Brotzman were of little help on that part, very much due to the fact both their kitchen experiences combined, consisted of heating up food in the microwave that should not, for safety reasons more than taste, be microwaved, and making pancakes on varying degrees of mostly liquid to charcoal (and yet, somehow, never the right amount of readiness).

She checks the instructions again, for the fourth - no, fifth - time, and sighs, as her eyes skim the long paragraphs of terrifyingly complex ingredients, which are, mostly, just fancy names for normal foods such as tomatoes and salt.

"First, pour oil on the pan..." She reads aloud, and Dirk scrambles to get it, knocking down a saltshaker and two plastic bowls as he grabs the bottle.

They manage to get about halfway through the dish before his shirt catches on fire and he gives himself a first - though, by the way he yelps one would think it was at least a second - degree burn.

Once the commotion is settled, she and Todd work significantly quicker through the steps that are left.

...

"How's your shoulder?"

Dirk tugs at the violently orange sleeve covering his injured arm. He's wearing a T-shirt that brightly announces, "Seattle elementary 2017 Lakeside adventure!" With an ugly drawing of a lizard - or a snake, Todd's not sure what creature it was even supposed to be - since he only brought one shirt with him, planning to cover up the fact with his three colorful jackets.

Todd supposes he should be grateful they found something that managed to cover his stomach even halfway.

"Okay - that is to say, the part of it that is no longer attached to it."

"So it hurts".

"You could say so, yes."

Dirk stretches, moving to make space for Todd next to him. The shirt rides up, exposing his stomach.

Todd pretends he doesn't notice.

"How did the cooking go?"

"Doubt they'll think about hiring us as their caterers anytime soon".

Dirk grins at the mention of the crazy cover-up story, that had only occurred to Lena to inform them of seconds before she shoved them into the makeshift kitchen.

That, at least, explained the teachers' interest and eventual suspicion at their very apparent lack of any cooking knowledge, in addition to their failure to answer any questions regarding what their job was, exactly.

Farah's "bodyguards" and Dirk's "gardeners" probably raised quite a few eyebrows.

"Did the universe feel like giving us some clues?" Todd asks, shifting in his place on the uncomfortable wooden bench.

"Not really, but I did find something sort of interesting," Dirk says. "Are dates usually marked by am-pm?"

...

They go over the text again, hoping to find something they had not seen before: but through lists of non-sugar additives and artificial flavoring, preservatives with such complex names they remind Dirk of medication - and make him vow not to touch another piece of gum in his life - they can find nothing unusual but the strange time stamp.

"Doo…dies? I've never heard of these guys." Says Farah, squinting at the tiny script. "They aren't on Google either," Dirk adds.

"Your Wi-Fi just isn't connected." Todd points out, tracing the intricate logo on the candy. It looks like an Arabic letter, twisting and curving unexpectedly, and he's pretty sure that tiny circle is supposed to represent a vowel.

"He's right, though. The only place they're mentioned is in some obscure Conspiracy magazine. The owner is like, a scientologist, or something."

"What's a –"

…

"Welcome to Lakeside park! Where are you kids from?" booms a deep voice that Farah can easily tell is fake, toned down at least three times its original pitch to seem more manly and intimidating.

A large, balding man in his forties, wearing the ugliest hat Farah has ever seen and a khaki uniform exited a beaten-up car, that ceased to be green sometime in the eighties.

Farah pretends to busy herself with her phone, keeping an ear out for the strange man, who had already befriended three quarters of the kids, introducing himself as Joey, the ranger in charge for the day. The car was named Martha the third – Farah doesn't feel like finding out what happened to the first two - and had gained quite a fan base itself.

He had the type of face that made you instantly trust him, and it was the reason Farah immediately decides not to.

"Something about this guy seems fishy." Says Dirk, before she can voice her thoughts, catching her by surprise. Dirk was usually the thick-headed one about these things.

Todd seems confused. "He looks perfectly okay to me."

"There's just something… off about him." Farah says. There's an uncanny feeling in her gut, something fundamentally wrong, that she just can't seem to put her finger on. She briefly wonders if that's how Dirk's hunches feel.

"... We’re having a treasure hunt across camp, so remember to keep your eyes wide and your mind open - one man's trash can be another's clue!" He finishes what was probably an important speech, but all Farah can focus on is his fake accent and corny metaphors.

"His voice is definitely fake," she whispers to Todd, who nods in silent agreement. It would take a special kind of idiot not to catch on that.

"You guys want some candy?" Joey asks the children, and without waiting for an answer, he shakes open a bag of 'Doodies' that looks suspiciously close to a copyright lawsuit with 'M&M's'.

Farah stares. "No, we -"

"Yes, thank you." Says Todd, elbowing her lightly.

"Gathering evidence! Great job, Todd!" Says Dirk, the moment Joey starts his car.

"They were the same type as the ones we've found, I thought it was worth the shot."

"I figured it out," Says Farah slowly, "I know what was wrong with him." mentally beating herself for not realizing it sooner - stupid, stupid, stupid! - she says, "His name tag said Bill."

...

"I think," starts Dirk as they creep into the office, taking in the frankly, impressive internal décor - that is, every centimeter of the wooden floor is covered in 'Doodies' wrappers, and on the wall is a single picture of the company mascot. There's even a half-eaten bag still present on the table. "they might like candy."

Finding the cabin wasn't hard. It was a less travelled part of the campsite, as most people preferred sleeping by the lake; many tourists seemed to hold the notion that there was nothing more romantic than getting bitten by mosquitoes while skinny dipping. Forests like this, on the other hand, were the perfect setting for horror stories across the bonfire; ghosts of travelers and blood-stained tales of werewolves and vampires.

The place, to put it simply, gave Dirk the creeps. Knowing he was following a possible child assaulter slash evil Mastermind did little to ease his growing anxieties.

The Jeep's wheels made deep, visible tracks in the mud, and Todd and he followed it quietly, as the thinly scattered trees would make for a terrible cover should they get caught; they had no means to protect themselves, either, as they had brought nothing with them beside Todd's phone – and Todd's bad aim was only second to Dirk's.

Their guy had gone to the toilet a few minutes ago, and they had just now mastered the courage to use the opportunity and sneak in, take a few pictures and an evil plan or two, if they just so happened to come by - and get out.

So far, they had scoured every centimeter of the room, with no plans in sight. Even boring ones, like getting a coffee with Kim Jong Un on Tuesday or setting fire to an orphanage on Friday.

"…were you actually expecting to find any, though?" asks Todd, and Dirk realizes he's been speaking out loud.

"Well, proper villains always have them stashed somewhere," says Dirk, motioning vaguely to the drawer he'd made a mess of moments earlier.

"And since when is anything involving you proper?" remarks Todd, stuffing an interesting looking notebook down his jeans.

"That's – fair." Admits Dirk.

"Shit! Someone's coming!" he says, dropping the pen he was previously examining while frantically looking for an out.

The cap rolls off as the barrel breaks into three pieces, purple ink spilling onto the wooden floor. Dirk tries to wipe it, only serving to smear it further.

"What are you –" Todd starts, as a rough voice asks, "Is anyone there?"

Todd and Dirk exchange terrified glances, and something akin to a plan pops into Dirk's head.

Before he has the time to decide whether or not it is a good one, Todd grabs his arm and jumps out the window.

…

"Looks like a normal office to me," says Farah as she scrolls through the pictures in Todd's phone. "Went sort of heavy on the whole 'down with nature' vibe, though."

"Well, Farah," says Dirk, as though he's explaining something obvious to a three-year old who also happens to be an idiot, "they are rangers."

"yes, but full-wall wood paneling? On all four walls?" Farah argues. "A giant map? This place doesn't even have a computer."

"so?" asks Dirk.

"So?" repeats Farah. "It looks like someone looked up 'Ranger' on Pinterest and mashed together the first things that came up."

"I took this, too." Says Todd, before Dirk has the chance to reply and make the situation even more ridiculous than it already is. He fishes a black, leather-bound notebook out of his pocket, and holds it up for both of them to see.

"You did what?!" Dirk and Farah yell out simultaneously. Dirk looks pleased, though visibly regretting not having done it himself, while Farah feels a strong urge to bury her head in her hands.

"The whole point of the mission was gathering evidence without being suspicious.” She scolds, “Going in, going out. Being sneaky for just once, just ONCE. That should've been all –"

She's spiraling again, feeling her thoughts come in a giant, unstoppable wave, and she is helpless to do anything, stop talking, calm her racing mind down. "…one job, one freaking job…" her mouth keeps on talking, the verbal vomit burning at her throat as fiercely as would real puke.

Farah Black doesn't have an anxiety disorder. She's a cop, she owns a gun; they don't give badges to just anyone - a firearm, doubly so.

Farah Black doesn't take pills, because she doesn't need them. Only people with anxiety take pills, she tells herself; she's not 'people with anxiety'.

Farah Black is just worried, yeah, because her best friends had gone and dug themselves into a giant mess again; she's simply overthinking things, and really needs to snap out of it, because since when has overthinking ever helped anyone –

Something cool and round presses against her lips, for a second, she freezes, before swallowing it obediently. She takes a few slow, experimental breaths, trying to regain her composure.

Farah blinks, her eyes focusing on the two men in front of her. "Are - Are you alright?" asks Dirk, and Todd slips a small red container back into his pants. "It's my medication," he explains, following her gaze. "Technically, it's supposed to reduce stimulation, but I figured it might work for panic –" "I don't have panic attacks," Farah interrupts quickly. Todd nods sheepishly. "…in your case, too."

She tries to ignore the pangs of shame already throbbing in her chest. She, the tough professional, the one that was supposed to know best and stay cool under the hardest of circumstances, just had a meltdown in front of her whole team, over something as minor as mission protocol.

"So, uh," Dirk says, and they both turn to him, thankful for the distraction. "What is this thing?"

…

“Are we really going to spend the whole night out here?” Asks Dirk, shivering and regretting leaving his jacket for the sake of blending in.

Though, the way he, a grown adult, well over a head above the rest and wearing a bright orange shirt that sort of glowed in the dark, was supposed to blend in, escaped him.

But Farah asked him to, and Dirk, who was pretty sure Farah in a relatively good mood could kill him without breaking a sweat, didn't want to get on the bad side of a medicated, in-a-bad-mood Farah. He very much preferred her anger directed towards their suspects than at him.

 “Not the whole night,” says the aforementioned, “just until what's-his-name appears.”

The book they found turned out to be a planner that, despite its misleading cover, appeared to belong in the hands of a six year old girl just as naturally as in the hands of the grown man who owned it - if six year old girls used purple glitter to plan out cult rituals and sacrifices instead of birthday parties, that is. Their guy had, apparently, been the leader - or, at least, a very devoted believer - of a strange cult that neither had ever heard of.

"11 pm. Await further orders." The page helpfully read, though, as they had no idea whether he had gotten them, it was of little help to them, specifically.

 “is there anything about illegal activities? Unwarranted peeping at five, perhaps?” Dirk had asked, peeking behind his fingers.

Since Dirk felt sheer terror at the idea of what possible horrors might have been written in the pages, and Farah's head was still “spinning at thirty miles an hour”, as she put it, they decided to avoid another incident – Farah had insisted on referring to her breakdown that way – by having Todd read through the entries first, then read the relevant sections out loud to them.

Todd shakes his head, “nothing. The rest is blank. You can check it yourself if you want to.”

Dirk is about to say that it really wouldn't be such a good idea, when about half a dozen children appear, all walking silently in their pajamas, keeping as quiet as they can. They cling to the fabric walls and each other, walking across the sleeping teacher's tents. Dirk would have laughed at the charade if it wasn't so terrifying.

'Where are the adults?' Dirk wants to ask, call someone, do something, stop this crazy.

When the last kid exits, her pink pajamas blowing in the wind, Dirk understands; there are no adults.

The ranger, if he even was one in the first place, made sure of it. By driving around in his fancy car, showing off his strength and familiarity with the area, he planted a false sense of security in everyone's heads. The adults didn't have to care about the children, because there was now someone else who will.

The teacher in charge was currently having a smoke break somewhere or sleeping, completely oblivious to the horror movie-esque scene unfolding right there in the open.

Maybe Lena even lied to them about having one in the first place; they had, undoubtedly, been through a similar scenario on the trip two weeks ago.

“We should get going,” Farah says quietly. “follow them and see what they're up to.”

“It's going to be fine, Dirk.” Todd adds gently, misinterpreting his thinking session for silent horror.

“Are they… hypnotized?” Offers Dirk and does a wonderful job of keeping his voice even and collected.

 “Do you have any idea where we - they, are going?” he adds, because Todd still doesn't look overly convinced that dirk's head is occupied with the case only, and not with every single horror story he has ever heard.

Todd admits he doesn't have a clue. The fifth graders, however, seem to know the trail by heart, and Dirk's hypnosis theory doesn't seem so far-fetched after all.

Todd finds his hand and squeezes it reassuringly. On his other side, Dirk can feel Farah's fists clench.

They stay that way all through the journey; and if Todd feels how abnormally sweaty Dirk's palms are, he doesn't mention it.

…

“They aren't here.” Farah hears an angry feminine voice coming from a point somewhere ahead. The road curves at this point, so Farah can't tell where it is located exactly. “None of them fit!"

She creeps forward, thanking every minute of her military training for the instincts that let her catch on this conversation. She reaches a car, parked discreetly a few feet away from the kayak renting dock, that at this time of the night looks lonely and abandoned.

The woman is the first to catch her eye, looking like a typical suburban mom, with her long hair dyed blond and the largest pair of sunglasses Farah has ever seen, despite it being the middle of the night. The type of mother you see in trashy, middle class teen movies: a hard-working housewife with four children and two dogs that is named either Karen or Ashley and likes to act like she's down with the teens, but really is just embarrassing.

“I just followed your instructions”, says a voice that Farah dimly recalls. When the figure steps in front of the headlights, she recognizes them as Joey - or Bill, though she doubts either is his real name.

His voice is dipped even lower now - a feat Farah thought impossible - and he has abandoned his Khaki uniform for a purple suit that suits him just as poorly. He's also still wearing that stupid hat. They are accompanied by a third figure, but Farah can't make out any of the finer details beside their long hair.

“I'm - I'm sorry, I –"

“Silence.” The woman says, raising her hand. He stops abruptly, looking like a kicked puppy. He even has the eyes to match.

“Someone else is coming,” she says, seemingly staring into the distance; her eyes are hidden, though, so it's hard to tell. “It might not be too late to fix this, after all."

She removes her glasses to reveal big, blue eyes that shine almost unnaturally bright. “Now, behave.” She says, staring directly at Farah - only it can't be, because there are two rows of boats between them. “We have company.”

...

“Todd,” whispers Dirk urgently. “Todd, have you seen a teacher, any one at all, holding a map?”

“A - what?”

"A map, Todd. Do try to pay attention." Dirk waves a vaguely familiar looking paper. "I found it in your bag", he explains.

"my bag? Why were you going through my stuff?"

"unimportant."

"We're going to have a talk about personal space when all of this is over," grumbles Todd, but grabs the crude drawing, nonetheless.

"It's the same as the ones we've seen on the bus," he says. "The one that Lena – oh."

"The teachers didn't draw these."

…

"We went all this way for nothing." Dirk hears one kid complain, and the rest grumble in agreement.

"Not for nothing, dears." says a voice.

The voice comes from a tall, blond woman, with black sunglasses and a fancy dress that manages to look both very expensive and very ugly at the same time.

"But, I'm afraid, I am the only one who can see the real value of this meeting."

She delivers the last bits like the punchline to a joke, but no one laughs. Dirk is secretly glad, because he doesn't get it either.

"Who are you?" demands a girl – a bravely idiotic move, but Dirk supposes someone must ask the questions around here.

"Not anyone important - for you at least, sweetie."

"Are you dangerous? 'Cause I know Karate," says another, in what is supposed to be a threatening manner, but only serves to make her chuckle.

"Dangerous? Me? Oh, you're a funny one. Come closer, I want to get a better look at all of your sweet faces." It comes out more as a demand, and no one moves.

"Guess I'll have to reach you myself," she smiles, shrugging, and that's when the cogs in Dirk's brain finally clicks.

"Venessa!" he yells, running out of the woods. His orange shirt glimmers alienly in the serene forest scene, discarded papers in tow. The glow-in-the-dark watch on one fifth grader's hand illuminates the scene, pointing to 11 pm sharp, and Venessa lets out a cry of horror, her face losing what little color they had.

Dirk can't blame her; it's like seeing a ghost for him, too.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

"That's just rude," Dirk pouts. And he thought his social skills were terrible. "And unnecessarily so. Do you treat all of your friends like this?"

"Shut up, Svlad, just shut up!"

Not that Dirk had expected a heartfelt speech, but a hug would have been lovely – even a friendly conversation that did not consist of insulting him and his life choices for three minutes straight was an option he would have settled on.

"It's Dirk now, actually." Says Dirk, because he can't think of a better response.

"Call yourself princess Buttercup Rainbow-dash, for all I care. I always knew your little detective act was going to bite one of us others in the ass one day." She approaches him, jabbing a finger into his chest.

"I come here to find a successor, and what do I get? A useless. Fucking. Reunion."

"What the hell is going on?" Todd picks the worst possible moment to chime in.

…

Watching Dirk's banter with the life size Barbie was entertaining enough, but Todd took his duties as a certain holistic detective's assis-friend seriously. So when Venessa-slash-evil witch starts getting physical, Todd takes it as his cue to drop in.

"What the hell is going on?"

"And who the fuck are you?" Evil Barbie Venessa turns to him. It seems that by now she has completely abandoned her pg-7 Disney-princess act in favor of dropping F bomb after F bomb.

Todd admires her skill to integrate the same word into so many sentences without getting bored of it.

"Dirk's best friend," answers Todd, and without looking he can tell Dirk is beaming at him, "and assistant."

"Look, Venessa –" Dirk tries to calm her down, but only angers her even more. The kids around them watch the scene unfold, open mouthed.

"It's Tamara!" she yells, her voice cracking. "It's been Tamara for years! I got over being Venessa, over being all the crazy, fucked up shit those bastards did to me.  I came here to find someone like me, keep them safe and hidden from this… this – Blackbook, and instead–"

"You found us." Completes Todd. "You mentioned that already. What does that even mean?" He asks, fighting the urge to grab 'Tamara' by the collar and demand her to start making sense.

"As Svlad – Dirk – should have told you, I'm the tool chosen as the universe's eyes," she says proudly, wiping her eyes, somehow managing to already recover her enormous ego and stuck up attitude despite being seconds after a breakdown. Todd turns to Dirk questioningly.

"Todd, this is Venessa - Tamara, project Cain.”

…

“...so this fortune-telling, self-proclaimed Jesus cult leader, sent our students messages through… candy?” concludes Lena, rubbing at her temples tiredly. Crazy, her facial expression screams at them, but her mouth is more polite. “You do realize this is more than a little hard to believe.”

“yes, but it's true,” says Dirk, waving his phone in front of her, the video recording of the argument (courtesy of Farah) playing on a loop on the broken screen. At the moment, it is running the part where Tamara boasts about her cult's reach ("from bus drivers to factory owners, and even to scout masters," tiny Tamara's voice says. "all three types of people.")

“Farah even risked her life for it, so I think it's safe to say we did our job to the fullest; even outdone ourselves.” He winks in what he is sure is a charming fashion, but only makes him look like he has something in his eye.

“You can ask any of your kids, they’d tell you the same thing.” Adds Farah, leaning her elbows on the desk. Her head hurts in three different places, as suburban-mom's goons couldn't come to an agreement on which part of the head causes memory loss when hit.

None of them, apparently.

“Even I'm half convinced it was a dream,” says Dirk, “and I was there – got screamed at, too. So I wouldn't bother.”

Todd kicks him lightly under the table, and Dirk takes it as a sign to stop talking.

Since the happenings of the previous night, the air between them has shifted. Things like accidental touches are now more frequent and less accidental; knuckles brushing against each other as they walk, sitting just a bit closer than strictly necessary. Dirk's not sure what it means for the two of them, but he doesn't feel like putting a label on it just yet - though that could be said about every constant in his life, starting from his housing situation and ending with his cat.

In the end, it's Farah's concussion that convinces Lena of the truth of their story, as she seems to believe no one would voluntarily hit themselves over the head with a baseball bat, even for eight hundred bucks.

Huh. Dirk once fell off a roof for fifty.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The conclusion was kinda hard to write so I might re-write it eventually  
> But if you liked the story please leave a comment, even incoherent keysmashing is welcome!


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